The Name of the Game
by Duchess Sophie von Teschen
Summary: Belle must accept Gaston's proposal in one week.  Slight AR. Prequel to the movie.
1. The Bet

**Only my second multi-chapter story ever- WHOAAA!**

**Now, I don't like this pairing. Not at face value, anyway. But, inspired by Watcher of the Hearts' "A Chance for Love," as well as the movies **_**How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days**_**, **_**10 Things I Hate About You**_**, **_**She's All That**_**, _50 First Dates_, and **_**Shrek**_** (yes, **_**Shrek**_**), I decided to try my hand at this pairing and their love-hate relationship.**

**Starting off with a short intro, here we go! Enjoy!**

Gaston's signature guffaw echoed throughout the tavern, nearly drowned out by the screams of the other patrons. His last joke ended on a rather risqué note, projecting the entire pub into a riot; the beer had been flowing freely since the sun went down and already everybody was feeling the rush of being tipsy. As the bar quieted down, the conversation began to shift to the subject of Gaston's last punchline; women. One woman, in particular, was always a hot topic in the village: Belle, the inventor's daughter. Arguably the most beautiful girl in their poor provincial, town in France, she was also the most abnormal, with an unusual habit of always _reading_.

"That girl is strange, no question."

"Strange, but special!"

"No denying she's a funny girl, that Belle."

"It's a pity and a sin, she doesn't quite fit in."

"She always has a dreamy, far-off look."

"And her nose stuck in a book!"

"Well, it's no wonder that her name means 'beauty!' Her looks have got no parallel."

"But behind that fair façade, I'm afraid she's rather odd."

A pensive look came over Gaston's face. What did a little abnormality mean to him? Aphrodite's beauty paled in comparison to Belle's, and that's all that mattered. She'd be the perfect trophy to add to his collection. Trophy wife, that is.

The thought had never occurred to Gaston before, and he slowly straightened up in his seat as it dawned on him; it only made sense that the two handsomest people in town should marry, and then go on to have handsome children together.

The bulging hunter could see it now; waltzing about town with Belle on his arm, showing her off. She'd be the perfect wife, cooking and cleaning and breeding and doting on his every whim. He deserved her. There could be no other.

"What's on your mind, Gaston?" someone from the back shouted out. It was unusual for him to sit on his throne, silent rather than bragging about one of his hunts or trophies. The talk in the room simmered down and a few people chuckled as everybody looked to the alpha male expectantly. Gaston smirked.

"I've decided," he started, slowly, rubbing his chin. "I've decided… to make Belle my wife."

The tavern was still for a moment before everyone burst into laughter. A couple of exceptionally drunk men rolled to the floor, giggling and screeching and holding their guts to keep them from splitting open. A flood of anger rushed over Gaston and he rose quickly to a defensive stance, flexing his muscles; no one laughed at Gaston!

"What's so funny?" he demanded, his voice overtaking the buzz. When no one responded right away, he whipped his mug across the room; a swaying man unfortunate enough to be in its path went down like a bag of sand. Everyone in the room, shocked, looked to see if the man was okay. When he began snoring on the floor, they turned back to Gaston.

"You think she's the marrying type?" a woman asked.

"You must've had a hunting accident!" a man shouted.

Gaston scoffed as an old man began waving money in the air.

"I have 10 francs on Belle!"

"I'll bet 5 on Maurice!"

"I bet she won't even talk to you!"

"I bet she'd rather marry a book!"

"I bet she's already married to a book!"

People began drunkenly voicing their opinions left and right, placing bets and throwing money down in good humor, and Gaston shouted for them to shut their mouths. He was almost insulted. This was _his_ idea, and that meant it had to be a d_amn_ good one.

"I bet I _could_ win her!" Gaston retaliated. More chastising followed.

"Yeah, in 7 years!"

"More like 70!"

"Only if you bought her a library!"

The hunter's thick fist hit the table. His ego spewed forth like a waterfall.

"Seven days!" Gaston challenged. The crowd gasped. Some money exchanged hands.

"Seven days?"

"Only _one week?_"

"One week," he reassured them. A man in the back raised his beer.

"The name of the game: win Belle's heart. You have one week from today, M'sieur Gaston- here's a drink to you!"

"Hear, hear!"

Everybody cheered and toasted, clinking their glasses together. Gaston's attitude turned sour. They didn't believe he could do it. He would show them.

_Gaston never fails._

He marched for the door, receiving words of support and enthusiasm and slaps on the back for good luck along the way. A trio of blonde women informed him that they'd agree to be his wives in only one day. But Gaston shrugged them off. As he reached the bold, oak doors of the tavern and gripped the wrought-iron handle, he turned back to the room.

"I'll have Belle for my wife. Make no mistake about _that_!"

And with that, he stormed out of the tavern and slammed the door, leaving behind a crowd of roaring, piss-drunk imbeciles.


	2. Hello, Belle

**Day 1 – Morning**

_Little town, it's a quiet village-_

_Every day like the one before…_

_Little town, full of little people_

_Waking up to say…_

* * *

"Good morning, Belle!" the baker greeted as he passed with an armful of pastries.

"Good morning, M'sieur," the inventor's daughter curtsied and followed the man, eager to socialize.

"Where you off to?" he inquired politely, although it was obvious his attention was elsewhere as he sorted through his goods.

"The book shop. I just finished the most wonderful story! About a beanstalk, and an ogre, and a-"

"That's nice," the baker commented, absentmindedly. A cross look came over his face as he realized he was missing something from his tray, before shouting, "Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!"

Belle shrugged and tucked back a stray lock of hair before walking away; she didn't wish to disturb the man any further if he had business to attend to. Besides, she knew of at least one place in town where someone other than herself would be interested in literature- and it most definitely wasn't the bakery.

The village sprung to life as people began bustling to and fro, busying themselves with morning errands, such as purchasing eggs or chasing livestock. Belle made her way hastily through the madness, hitching a ride on the back of a hay cart to travel across town to the bookshop.

The tiny brass bell above the door _tinkled _as Belle came through. The sound was like music to her ears.

"Ah, Belle!" the bespectacled old bookkeeper greeted as she entered, grinning.

"Good morning," Belle returned cordially. She reached into the basket that hung from her elbow and pulled out a book. "I've come to return the book I borrowed."

It quickly exchanged hands, and before the elderly man could even register what he was now holding the dame was already on the other side of the room, scouring for a new novel to occupy her time.

"Finished already?" he asked, incredulous.

"Oh, I couldn't put it down. Have you got anything new?"

The bookkeeper chuckled and tucked the book away.

"Not since yesterday!"

"That's alright," Belle murmured as her hands danced over the many leather-bound spines that sat side-by-side on the shelves. "I'll borrow… _this_ one!"

She handed it to the bookkeeper for approval. The old man adjusted his specs and inspected the front cover, shaking his head with disbelief when he realized the title she had picked out.

"That one? But you've read it _twice!_"

"Well, it's my favorite!" Belle started, explaining with such a passion and obliviousness to anything else that the bookkeeper couldn't help but to laugh. "Far-off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, a prince in disguise-"

"If you like it all that much, its yours," he interrupted her with a sigh, handing her the book as he led her out. Belle's face lit up. No one but her Mama and Papa had ever given her a gift before.

"But, _sir!_"

"I insist."

"Well- thank you. Thank you very much!"

* * *

_Oh, isn't this amazing!_

_It's my favorite part because- you'll see!_

_Here's where she meets Prince Charming,_

_But she won't discover that it's him 'til Chapter 3!_

* * *

A gunshot echoed throughout the bustling streets, but it went relatively unnoticed by everyone except for Lefou, a stout, reddish little man with greasy hair and a burlap sack, and three young women who gasped in pleased surprise as the shot struck down a goose. It fell from the sky like a block of plump, feathery lead, landing with a hard _thud_ beside Lefou, who hurriedly snatched it up and stashed the bird into the sack. He waddled as fast as he could over to a hunter standing in the shadows, clutching a smoking rifle in his iron grip.

"Wow, you didn't miss a shot, Gaston! You're the greatest hunter in the whole world!" Lefou gushed as Gaston blew on the lip of his gun.

"I know."

"No beast alive stands a chance against you, ha!" the shorter man continued as he followed his larger, manlier counterpart. He eyed the three swooning blondes as they passed. "And no girl for that matter," he added.

"It's true, Lefou, and I've got my sights set on that one," he informed his sidekick, hoisting him up by the collar and holding him with one arm, pointing in Belle's direction. Lefou's eyes went wide.

"T-the inventor's daughter?"

"She's the one!" he exclaimed. The thrill of the chase coursed through his veins. He would have her. He would win the bet. But at the moment he was dropping Lefou to the ground and slicking back his dark hair. "The lucky girl I'm going to marry."

"But she's-"

"The most beautiful girl in town!"

"I know, but-"

"That makes her the best!" Tired of a sloth less than half his size contradicting him, Gaston finished defiantly, boring down at Lefou with a threatening stare. "_And don't I deserve the best?_"

He grabbed Lefou by the collar to assert his authority. The man bumbled, intimidated.

"Well- of course- I mean you do- but I-"

* * *

_Right from the moment when I met her, saw her,_

_I said, "She's gorgeous," and I fell;_

_Here in town, there's only she_

_Who's as beautiful as me,_

_So, I'm making plans to woo and marry Belle._

* * *

"Just watch, I'm going to make Belle my wife!" Gaston announced confidently to the villagers as he followed her through the crowd. A few men from the tavern were milling about nearby and they cheered him on enthusiastically, cackling and hooting. He lost her in the merriment and took to the rooftops, eager to catch her before she returned to her house for the day. He spotted her at once, and scaled the roofs of several buildings before leaping down in front of her, cutting her off. Too enamored by whatever she was reading, Belle hardly noticed. Gaston would make her notice. He puffed out his chest, put his fists on his hips, and flashed his most charming, debonair smile.

"Hello, Belle," he purred. She glanced up from over the top of her book, but kept walking.

"Bonjour, Gaston."

Not to be ignored, Gaston grabbed the book from her hands and held it above his head, flipping through the pages. A puzzled look crossed his face.

"Gaston, may I have my book, please?" Belle asked, irritated. She reached for it, but he turned away. He wondered just how fiery she could get.

"How can you read this? There's no pictures!"

"Well, some people use their imagination," Belle replied. Gaston could easily interpret the amused tone of her voice.

_She thinks she's better than me- a woman! She needs a man. She's practically asking- no, begging me to take her as my wife! This bet is going to be a piece of cake._

"Belle, it's about time you got your head out of those books and paid attention to more important things… like _me_."

He threw her book and began circling her, looking her up and down. She gasped and lunged for the novel but Gaston stopped her by stamping a boot atop its cover, pressing it into the mud. The expression on her face was priceless; Gaston almost laughed out loud, but he chose to smile and be charming instead. A few meters away, the young women from the tavern nearly fainted at the sight of Gaston's pearly whites as he flashed them at Belle.

"The whole town's talking about it. It's _not right_ for a woman to _read_! Soon, she starts getting ideas, and… _thinking_."

Belle wiped the dirt from her book and sighed.

"Gaston, you are positively primeval."

Gaston didn't even bat an eye at the insult. In fact, he was unaware that he had even been insulted. No one insults Gaston!

"Why, thank you Belle," he countered smoothly, sidling over to her. He wrapped an arm around her thin waist and reveled in the feel of her tight, soft body through her clothes. Holding onto her- it was dominance. She was his. Or was going to be, anyway.

"What do you say you and me take a walk over to the tavern and take a look at my trophies?"

He began pulling her in the direction of the tavern as she modestly rejected, saying something about possibly going another time. Gaston wasn't listening. Why would they go another time if they could go now? Besides, one look at his trophies and she would fall into his arms and never leave. He could win the bet in _one day_! But still, with his arm around her shoulders, he could feel her body tense. She was resisting, as subtly as she could. Confused, Gaston allowed Belle to pull herself away from him.

* * *

"_What's wrong with her?"_

"_She's crazy!"_

"_He's gorgeous!"_

* * *

"Please, Gaston, I can't. I-I have to get home to help my father. Goodbye."

Gaston stood dumbfounded. Any and every girl in town got a fever just breathing the same air as him. Except for Belle.

_This is going to be harder than I thought._

The hunter didn't notice when Lefou appeared out of the clockwork and was suddenly at his side.

"A-ha-ha-ha! That crazy old loon! He needs all the help he can get!" he shouted, slapping his knee. Gaston couldn't help himself. Both men keeled over, laughing.

"Don't talk about my father that way!" she cried, defensive and obviously offended. Gaston, realizing he still needed to win her trust and approval, bopped Lefou on the head.

"Yeah, don't talk about her father that way!"

"My father's not crazy. He's a genius!"

A _boom_ resonated through the hills as Belle's quaint little cottage went up in smoke. Frantic, the girl hurried away, leaving Gaston in tears.

"Come, Lefou," he spoke when at last he had calmed himself. Lefou was still chuckling as they turned and waltzed back into town.

* * *

Smoke bellowed forth from the cellar as Belle pried the doors open, shielding her eyes. Her heart jumped to her throat and she began coughing.

"Papa?" Belle called out, desperately seeking her father amongst the debris.

"How on Earth did _that_ happen?" she heard his gruffly voice from the far end of the room. Swatting at the air to clear a path, Belle found him at last as he was getting to his feet. His trousers were around his ankles, revealing a rather large pair of patterned bloomers.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm about ready to give up on this hunk of junk!"

He gave it a swift kick and Belle giggled. She was used to her father's mood swings when it came to inventing; one minute he'd be confident and proud, and the next he'd be defeated and worrisome. It was one of the many things she loved about her Papa.

"You always say that."

"I mean it this time!" Maurice said, moving over to his daughter. "I'll never get this bone-headed contraption to work!"

"Yes, you will. And you'll win first prize at the fair tomorrow."

When Maurice crossed his arms in defiance of what Belle was saying, she held his shoulders and gave him a reassuring squeeze for support.

"And become a world-famous inventor."

He seemed to consider her words.

"You _really_ believe that?"

"I always have," Belle assured him.

With a newfound excitement, Maurice eagerly hopped over to his machine, vowing to have it working in no time at all. He slid beneath it and asked Belle for a couple things.

"So, did you have a good time in town today?" came his muffled voice from underneath the engine.

"I got a new book," she said, specifically leaving out the other odd happenings in town that day. She needn't worry her father.

_Speaking of odd…_

"Papa… do you think I'm… odd?"

"Odd?" Maurice emerged in a pair of goggles that magnified his eyes tenfold. "Huh, where would you get an idea like that?"

"I don't know. It's just that I'm not sure I _fit in_ here," Belle sighed as she circled the room. Her fingers idly ran along the length of the tattered volume, feeling the pages crisp with dried mud. "There's no one I can really talk to."

"What about that Gaston? He's a handsome fella."

She stifled a snort.

"He's handsome, all right. And _rude_, and _conceited_, and- oh, Papa, he's not for me."

Belle sat down before the hearth and put her chin in her palm, resting her elbow on her knee, and cradling her book in her other hand. Her conversation with Gaston that morning had been the longest she'd had with anyone other than her father since they moved. Yet, it hadn't been as intellectually stimulating as she would have preferred. Gaston was all brawn and no brains. Materialistic. Nothing but the best for him.

"Well, don't you worry, cause this invention's going to be the start of a new life for us."

He walked over to Belle and wiped his oily hands on a rag.

"I think that's done it. Let's give it a try."

He pulled the lever. True to his word, the gears sprung to life, the coils began coiling, and the entire thing shook and whistled with the power of steam. Belle couldn't quite believe her eyes. An axe attached to the end of the machine moved on it's own, chopping a block of wood that had been set in place for that purpose.

"It works!" she cried.

"It does!" Maurice agreed, grinning from ear to ear.

"You really did it!"

Belle hugged her father, who pumped a fist in the air in triumph.

"Hitch up Philippe, girl. I'm off to the fair!"

It was mid-afternoon by the time Belle returned from the stable with Philippe, her family's old packhorse and only "pet" besides a couple chickens. Her father hoisted his invention into the cart, kissed his daughter farewell (while simultaneously warning her about the dangers of staying alone), and climbed onto the animal's back.

"Goodbye, Papa! Good luck!"

"Take care while I'm gone!"

Belle waved and waited outside until he was too far down the path to see her. She loitered for a few minutes before deciding that she should start on some chores. Her thoughts briefly played with the idea of going back into town, but she decided that the risk of running into Gaston again was too great.

* * *

_There must be more than this provincial life…_

* * *

**Sorry for the wait! Kind of a boring chapter, but it has to be done. Now that it's out of the way, we can really get cookin'!**_  
_


	3. Analogies

**Day 1 - Evening**

The greatest hunter in all of France sat perched on his hide-lined throne at the head of the room, as per usual.

Rounds of jokes were being shot off from every which way as mugs and morales were refilled. Gaston merely smirked at the sarcastic questions that the bar patrons began hurling at him, becoming increasingly ballsy with their alcohol intake.

"How'd it go?"

"Did you propose yet?"

"Did the sight of Lefou frighten her away?"

"I'm sure throwing her book was a nice touch, eh, Gaston?"

"Didjya see the _chest_ on that _treasure_?"

"Is it too late to bet on Maurice?"

"Didn't go as ya hoped?"

So they knew. Gaston sighed and rubbed his face, thinking of how to respond. He stood. He was mentally preparing his speech.

"She's one tough egg to crack, I'll give you that one," he finally replied with a curious smile.

A few men chuckled. Someone yelled, "Hear, hear!"

"But then again…a girl's worth is measured by the _chase_."

Gaston shot a glance in the direction of the Three Bimbettes, but the reference went right over their heads and they sighed in unison at the sight of his pretty blue eyes.

"Belle is like a fine wine," he began, taking on a "sophisticated" tone of voice. His expression shrunk and he shook his head as his train of thought took a hard left. "No, wait. She's more like… a _cat_."

The entire pub listened intently, each and every one wondering where their idol was going with his rant. But the hunter simply sat back down with a grin; he had no intent of explaining further. It made sense in his mind, so it must make sense to everyone else. Lefou shrugged when they looked to him for an explanation. He was a lightweight and was absent from the tavern most nights; he had been briefed on the bet shortly after he arrived, tailing Gaston, and didn't know any more than anyone else.

The hunky bachelor sat, sipping his beer, pleased with his clever analogy, until a man in the back broke the awkward silence that had been building in the room; "What do you mean, Gaston?"

Raising a single eyebrow, Gaston rose to his feet again, holding his mug up. A new idea, a new plan, was forming in his mind.

"If you chase a cat, it will run from you… but leave it be, and it'll come to you, purring at your feet."

Gaston pumped his beer in the air. The men began hooting and hollering immediately, almost as if on cue.

"Amen, brother!"

"You sly _dog_!"

Gaston's booming laughter echoed as his drink was filled and filled again, until the sun broke over the hills beyond the town limits, behind Belle's house.

* * *

**Damn writer's block.**


	4. Another Day In Town

**Day 2 - Morning**

Gaston loitered near the gun shop, the one of the first stops on his morning routine. The shopkeeper slapped him on the back and mused at how early he managed to awake each morning, despite drinking at the tavern all night. Gaston shrugged it off as a necessary survival skill- a skill essential to a hunter who spends long nights in the wilderness with nothing but his wits about him. He was about to divulge into one of his entertaining hunting stories when he spotted his target; Belle, walking into town, with a basket hanging from her elbow and reading a book. The shopkeeper, noticing the way Gaston's eyes followed her, made a snaky remark that was silenced by Gaston's rifle in his face.

"Talk about how great I am," he commanded. Belle was headed their way. The man, confused and afraid and put on the spot, stammered before finally whispering; "You have nice hair?"

Gaston straightened and slicked back his hair to emphasize the man's comment. But when he turned, Belle had already passed and the man's praise of him went unheard. The hunter growled and turned away from the shop, moving towards the bakery. He stood nearby with his back against a wall, absentmindedly checking his fingernails.

Belle was not oblivious to Gaston's presence. In fact, as she approached the baker and saw the muscular man in her peripheral vision, she tensed immediately, preparing for an onslaught of boasting and shallow compliments; she eased when he did no such thing. He didn't even move. Her curiosity was piqued, although she dared not investigate further. Deciding not to wait around for a repeat of yesterday, Belle purchased a few goods from the baker and briskly walked away, but was put at unease once more by the sound of Gaston's heavy boots not far behind her. Panicked, the inventor's daughter ducked into what she believed was her only safe haven- the bookshop.

"Belle," the bookkeeper greeted, surprised as the girl rushed inside, glancing over her shoulder. "What has you in such a hurry this morning?"

She breathed a shaky sigh of relief and tucked a few strands of hair that had come loose behind her ears.

"Gaston. He's… "

… _been taking an unprovoked interest in me lately._

The bookkeeper, not a man of the drink and therefore as unaware as Belle, shrugged.

"Anything I can help you with?"

Anxious amber eyes darting about the room, she shook her head.

"No, no, I don't think so. Thank you."

She thought for a moment.

"Do you mind if I… if I stay in here for a while?"

The elderly, bespectacled man gestured for her to stay, and she thanked him, using her time in the shop to browse the books on the shelf. All was quiet and Belle's heart returned to a normal pace.

* * *

"Damn, lost her."

Gaston marched up and down the cobblestone streets of town, trying to find the object of his affection. She _must_ have noticed him; he had made sure he was visible to her everywhere she had gone that morning. And yet, she was still not his wife.

Something was definitely wrong here.

"Lose something, Gaston?" a man called out from where he stood in front of the metalsmith's workshop. A few man laughed with him, and Gaston, desperate to keep up appearances, chuckled heartily and joined them.

"She's a tight one, that Belle," he said with an exasperated sigh.

"I'll say," one of the men, a heinous fellow with wooden teeth, wheezed with a wink as he nudged Gaston's side. The hunter feigned a laugh in response.

"She'd be a cheap wife, that's for sure," another one mused, taking a long swig from the stein in his hand.

"Excuse me?" Gaston sneered. He was almost insulted.

"Well, you have to admit she's a bit… well, _plain_."

"And _petite_. She probably doesn't eat much."

"And with the prices that dressmaker is charging these days… "

"You'll save barrels on fabric with such a tiny woman for a wife."

"I'm guessing it doesn't take more than a metre to wrap her up."

"But who cares what she wears, right? _Unwrapping_ her is the best part, eh, Gaston?"

"She may be small, but I bet she's round in all the right places. Just think of that wedding night-"

The man was abruptly silenced by Gaston's monstrous fist around his neck. He scrambled to free himself, but the hunter easily outmatched him, and he began to fade to blue as the other men looked on with awed horror.

"That's my future bride you're talking about," he growled before finally letting the man go. He collapsed like a rag doll at Gaston's feet.

Despite the man's current incapacitation, his words had an impact that struck Gaston like a bolt of lightning; without his consent, his mind instantaneously conjured up an image of Belle on their wedding night, shy and vulnerable and…

As masculine and brutal of a façade he put on, the image shot through the hunter like a bullet, painting his face and neck and chest a visibly deep shade of scarlet as it traveled downward, finally stopping in the pit of his stomach. The men watched his transformation; amazed at how two different men could each change colors in such a short span of time.

Gaston, humiliated, ran across the street and into the bookshop, as the group of men was left behind, scratching their heads.

* * *

Belle smiled to herself. It was so peaceful in-

The bell above the door chimed the entrance of an unwanted guest. Belle's pulse stopped and her veins froze as she recognized the sound of weighty hunting boots moving over to the bookshelf. Her hand, which was outstretched to return a book to its place on the shelf, retracted back to her body, taking the novel with it. It pressed with a suffocating force against her diaphragm as Gaston stood next to her. Belle awaited the moment he would say something to her, or touch her, or take the book from her hand, but he only moved to take down a rather large volume, and he began flipping through its yellowed pages.

Nervous, her head reeling, Belle was compelled to speak.

"Good morning, Gaston."

The hunter gulped- audibly- and pushed his face into his newfound hobby, hiding it from view. He damned himself. He should've known she'd be in the bookshop!

"Morning… Belle."

She waited anxiously for a proposal, but none came. Seeing no forecoming confrontation, Belle's body calmed itself.

He was a puzzling creature, that Gaston.

Curious, Belle turned her head to read the cover of the book his nose was currently smashed against; a gasp of surprise escaped her lips.

"_The Canterbury Tales_? Gaston, I didn't know you enjoyed literature," she said. She arched an eyebrow at him. With a perplexed expression, the hunter carefully pulled his face from the pages and looked at her, then back at the novel, then back at her.

"Belle, you must be confused. This is a book."

"That's what I was referring to. _The Canterbury Tales_. It's one of my favorites."

Something clicked in Gaston's brain and he let out a rather loud "Aha!" as he held the book above his head.

"Ah, yes! This! Literature… " he laughed, tapping the binding with his thick fingers. Belle was unconvinced, and she crossed her arms in disbelief. Humiliated further, Gaston's eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape.

"Well, yes, I just came in here for this book, and now I am going to go."

He turned on his heel to leave, but Belle, taken aback, stopped him.

"Wait! That's it?" she asked, holding a flat palm to her neck.

"What do you mean?" Gaston asked as he turned back to face her.

"No lines? No proposing? I mean… " Belle eyes went wide and her mouth gaped. "You seemed so… _keen_ on having my company yesterday."

Gaston stiffened, and then immediately let out a hearty bellow that shook the entire shop. The bookkeeper had to snatch his inkwell before it toppled off his writing desk. This wasn't going smoothly at all.

"Ah, ha, yes-" Gaston cleared his throat, "About that, I, uhh… "

Gaston's mind reeled and he felt compelled to leave. For perhaps the first time in his life, he was tongue-tied. Something about Belle was… _intimidating_. A million things spun through his head at once and Belle watched him, waiting for an answer. He accidentally pictured her nude again.

_Leave._

_Now._

"I'm truly sorry Belle, but I'm afraid I have to go… water my horse!"

Before she could utter a sound, the bell above the door clamored noisily as Gaston's quickened footsteps disappeared into town.

* * *

**OH MY GOSH I AM SO SORRY I DIDN'T REALIZE IT'S BEEN 2 WEEKS SINCE THE LAST UPDATE PLEASE DON'T KILL ME**


	5. New Strategy

**Day 2 – Evening**

"Perhaps… perhaps I've been going about this the wrong way. Perhaps I haven't been aggressive enough… "

Gaston rested his chiseled chin on his enormous fist, which in turn was supported by his elbow propped up on his knee. Lefou slowly but surely waddled towards him with more steins of beer. They went untouched on the table beside him. _The Canterbury Tales_ also lay forgotten; he wasn't sure why he bought it, considering the fact that reading was never his strongest skill.

"No luck, eh, Gaston?" the stout man asked as he leaned against the arm of the chair. He fell when the hunter absentmindedly picked up his seat and turned it to face the fire. A few men laughed.

"Well, Belle _is_ a classy broad."

"An odd broad."

"An odd_ball_."

"You gotta _woo_ her!"

"_Wow_ her!"

"Make her _swoon_!"

"Bring her flowers!"

"_Chocolat!_"

More helpful suggestions came from all sectors of the room, but they went unheard and unheeded by Gaston, who was too lost in thought to be bothered.

Here he was, already two whole days into the weeklong bet, and he had made little to no progress in achieving his ultimate goal.

_Imbeciles. They don't understand how to properly vie for a woman like Belle. You have to woo her, and wow her, make her swoon. You have to bring her…_

And then a spark of genius, as if it were an idea all his own, popped to the forefront of his brain. Gears finally started clicking into place.

He would have to be straightforward with Belle. It was so obvious; a beautiful girl such as she would not have the time nor capacity to understand silly games. She needed attention, and gifts, and poetry… Well, maybe not poetry, but Gaston had a new plan of action.

And this time it was going to work.

* * *

**An early update as an apology for the lengthy wait for the last update.**

**Also an early Memorial Day present ;D**


	6. Flowers

**Day 3 – Morning**

"What do you think, Lefou? A dozen roses?"

"Ahhh, roses represent passion and romantic love," the florist, a middle-aged woman in the shape of a creampuff, swooned as she walked over to the pair. Gaston didn't like her tone. It was an insinuating tone, which meant that she was judging him, which meant that she was condescending, which meant that she believed _she_ was better than _him!_

"Who are these for?"

Gaston cleared his throat and declared proudly and without fear of rejection:

"Belle, the most beautiful girl in town."

"Belle? Maurice's daughter?" the old woman laughed. "Wouldn't you be better off buying her a dozen _books_?"

Gaston grumbled under his breath. He had no patience for old people.

"What about these, then?"

He spoke to Lefou, but the florist intervened once more.

"Poppies? They symbolize death, my dear."

"If they're _pretty_, does it really matter what they mean?"

"Try these; hydrangeas for perseverance and magnolias for dignity."

"These aren't for _me_, you know-"

The old woman thrust the bouquet into Gaston's arms and took his money from him. He stared down at the bundle awkwardly, twitching his nose at the abundant odors wafting up into his face. He had to sneeze. He wondered if Belle would like them. Brows furrowed, he looked to Lefou, to the florist, and back again. She merely shrugged.

"I'd give you some stephanotis for good luck, but I'm fresh out, my dear."

* * *

_Passion and romantic love? Bullshit._

Did Gaston love Belle? He contemplated the idea, but couldn't be sure. He hardly knew her on a personal level. She was, however, the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen, and from the moment he first saw her, he had to have her. Wasn't that love?

Gaston stumbled over a pothole in the cobblestone pavement as he and Lefou trudged along their usual route, but he quickly regained his composure and hoped no one had seen him.

But then again, what was love, anyway? Gaston loved hunting. Gaston loved a challenge. Wooing Belle was a challenge. Belle was a challenge. Did that mean Gaston loved Belle?

Again, he couldn't be sure.

His brain was running laps trying to wrap around the idea when Lefou loosed a snide remark about the baker in Gaston's direction. He nodded and mechanically replied with something witty and off-color, too lost in his thoughts of Belle and how he could win her to properly respond, when he felt an elbow poke the side of his calf.

"Hey Gaston, listen to this," the stout man cackled as they passed a shop door left ajar. Two men inside were speaking- or rather, gossiping.

"Didja hear ol' Maurice has off and gone to the fair?"

"Oh, yes, the country fair, no doubt."

"And I'll bettee took that hunk-a-junk withim!"

"Wouldn't doubt it. Winner gets a patent for his invention. Maurice believes he can win, no doubt."

"An' he left that sweet little girl o'a daughter of 'is all by her lonesome?"

"It would seem so, I believe- no doubt that girl can hold her own."

* * *

The inventor's daughter arose at the crack of dawn and, within the hour, had gathered a bucket, water, and soap; she spared no time in getting down to the backbreaking business of keeping house. Washing the floors was at the top of her list.

Belle bunched her dress and apron about her thighs and knelt on the stone floor of their cottage's tiny kitchen, adjusting to the feel of cold, rough rock against her bare knees as she began to scrub the floor with a brush. Although it was only the second day of her father's absence, she planned on having the house spic-and-span by sundown.

Once she started cleaning, Belle let her mind wander; she began to think of the books she read, of books she'd like to read…

_Of Gaston._

Belle sat bolt upright and gave the wooden brush the tiniest squeeze. He was invasive, even in her private thoughts- oh, how he _infuriated_ her! Although she was a very tolerant young woman, something about the bulky hunter caused her muscles to tense and her stomach to clench. His hairy arms, his stocky torso, his dazzling smile; they all meshed in an unusual mixture of a man, with an ego to boot.

Her eyes traveled slowly to her new and muddied book, which she had left open to the third chapter on the table to dry in the open air. How one could have such a disregard for another person's things… all Belle could do was sigh and shake her head.

Even so, why did Belle find the very sound of Gaston's name revolting? Was it truly because of the reasons she listed in her mind? Or was it something deeper?

_Gaston._

Sure, the name had a nice ring to it- sturdy and handsome- although it hardly fit the man it labeled. The name was everything that the man _wasn't_.

He had each and every quality of a hero, and yet he lacked them all. He was as strong as Heracles, as romantic as Romeo, as arrogant as Oedipus, and as chivalrous as King Arthur's evil twin. Was he as generous as Robin Hood? Perhaps; he had been known to buy the men a few rounds after the hunt.

But that was the depth of his "heroism." He was no hero. He was simply a big child, stomping around and claiming his toys. Belle realized that she just so happened to be a new toy.

A resounding rap at the door stirred Belle from her reverie.

_A visitor? But who could that be… ?_

She and her father rarely received visitors, save for the occasional collector or two. Belle stood and smoothed out her dress and apron. Whoever was at the door knocked again, louder and more fervent this time.

Through her father's gadget, she could see Gaston, grinning and holding a bundle of-

"Flowers?" Belle gasped in surprise as the hunter forced the door open and waltzed in, uninvited. He thrust the bouquet into her arms and beamed.

"For you," he said. The shock on the inventor's daughter's face was evident.

"What a pleasant surprise," Belle murmured awkwardly as she wondered what to do with them.

"Isn't it though? I'm just full of surprises."

"Why… thank you, I suppose."

On that note, Gaston followed Belle to where she was setting up a vase for the flowers. He admired her for a moment; the curves of her sides, her slightly tousled auburn hair loosely tied with a blue ribbon, her pale legs bare beneath her skirt… It was all too much and the time to make his move had approached.

He grabbed her from behind. She squeaked and spun around to face him. His hand traveled down the length of her back, coming to rest on her waistline- dangerously close to her rear. He pulled her closer. Her heart skipped a beat. She shrugged him off.

"Forgive me, Gaston, but I have chores to finish-"

She moved for the door to see him out, lifting up her pail along the way, but was stopped by the hunter, who had other plans in mind; knocking an armchair onto its side, he stood before her and blocked her path. Easily overpowering her, he hooked an arm through Belle's bent elbow, distracting her long enough for Gaston to remove the wash bucket from her hand.

"You're not backing out now, are you, Belle? Not after I bought you those flowers?"

"They're lovely, really, but I must get back to work."

Gaston gave her an insinuating look that made Belle shift uncomfortably in his hold. Slipping from him, she stepped back and away from the door, toward the table.

"Hardworking. I _like_ that in a woman," he purred, licking his lips and flaunting his eyebrows. Belle groaned. In a flash, he was at her side again. His arm snaked around her shoulders.

"I can see it now!"

"See what?" Belle asked, mechanically, fearfully. Gaston turned and pressed his abdomen to hers; she moved backward, only to find that she was backed against the table. Cornered.

"Picture this; a rustic hunting lodge. My latest kill roasting on the fire... "

Gaston breathed in her ear, his voice hot and deep. The sound shot through Belle like a firecracker and she trembled; whether out of slight intimacy or disgust, she couldn't be sure at the moment. He interpreted the reaction for the former and continued.

_Belle is like a cat…_

"… and my little wife, massaging my feet. While the little ones play on the floor with the dogs."

Belle swallowed hard. Gaston's face was mere inches from hers now, his eyes glazed over with lust and the thrill of the chase. Belle leaned against the table's surface to distance herself from him as much as possible as he bore down on her. His boots were rooted on either side of her feet. His hands were planted on either side of her head. She felt his pelvis brush her hips.

Their proximity was foreign and unwanted and exciting all at once.

… _a cat in heat._

"I'd like to have six or seven."

"D-dogs?"

"No, Belle! Strapping boys, like me!"

"Imagine that."

"And do you know who that little wife will be?"

"Let me think-"

"_You_, Belle!"

On the last syllable, he seized her, scooping her up into his arms and pulling her away from the table in one movement, dipping her low for a kiss.

Belle's eyes widened at the sight of his puckered lips coming towards her. The muscles in her chest beat furiously against her ribs. Her brain throbbed and a thousand new sensations pumped through her body at once. She knew she had to act fast.

It took little to no thinking. It happened suddenly, but in slow motion. Her knee came up, swiftly, in defense; it landed between his legs, nailing him in the groin. A sound like howl or a wail or an exacerbated whimper escaped his lips. His hands rushed to his manhood and his knees hit the floor.

He stayed like that for a while; silent and hurting and Belle breathing hard as she stood frozen. What had she done to him? The introverted daughter of a scientist had never been one to be violent. Something about him brought out her most primal instincts.

At last, when it was over, his eyes narrowed to slits and he looked up at Belle with pure frustration plastered across his features.

"You know, Belle, there's not a girl in town who wouldn't _love_ to be in your shoes," he hissed through clenched teeth. Belle was dumbfounded; all she could do was gape and feel the guilt begin to fill her heart.

What had he done wrong, really?

_Besides break into my home and assault me?_

Despite his blatant chauvinism, he had good intentions.

He did bring her flowers.

He _did_ ask her to marry him.

What was so bad about that?

_ Everything._

"Don't you get it, Gaston?" Belle finally spoke, shaken but undeterred. "The entire town thinks I'm _crazy_. They should lock you up, too, for pursuing me so determinedly."

A strangled laugh was his reply.

"If only you knew," Gaston chuckled dully under his breath. The faces of the condescending bar patrons burned between his eyes. Belle gave him a questioning look and he shook his head, straightening to leave.

"You're right… Belle… I'm sorry. I'll leave now, if you really want me to."

Belle opened her lips to speak, but no words came. When she looked down and away from him, Gaston dusted off his jacket and left without a sound, slamming the heavy oak door behind him.

Outside, Lefou began babbling as soon as Gaston reached the last step. The hunter, irritated and defeated and frustrated beyond compare, snatched the man up by his collar and ordered him to fetch his horse, for he was to hunt for the remainder of the day.

* * *

**OH YEAH! HERE'S WHERE IT STARTS TO GET SEXY! It's startin' to heat up from here: longer chapters = more _amour_~**


	7. To The Rescue

**Day 3 – Dusk**

Belle parted her rosy lips and sighed, allowing the sound to be carried by the wind that traveled over the hills and into the sunset. Dark was approaching soon, and yet she did not feel the least bit tired. Her mind was racing and burning with unanswered questions.

Why did Gaston wish to wed her so badly?

And so suddenly?

Why would she not give him a chance?

Was it because she hated him?

Or was she simply unaccustomed to a man giving her attention?

That is, attention for attributes other than her odd habit of always reading?

Was she… _afraid?_

And how or why did he make her feel like she did?

It was such a strange sensation every time he came around her. It was as if he set her bones on fire, although her skin was cold. Her heart beat faster and slower at the same time. She wanted to be as far from him as possible, and yet…

She couldn't get close enough.

Belle sighed again and finished feeding the chickens, which were already snuggling up for the night in their coop. After putting the basket away, Belle pulled her hair out of her face and looked to the house; the looming prospect of spending another night alone in the cold, empty house did not sound particularly pleasing at the moment.

Oh, how she missed her father.

When the sun had gone and Belle didn't feel entirely spent, she lit a lantern, wrapped her cloak about her shoulders, and picked a book from the many on her shelf. She would read in the stable until the tide of sleep overcame her.

* * *

Gaston sighed and wiped his face with his free, ungloved hand as he reached the edge of the wood; his other hand held the reins that he led his horse with, and atop his steed were the carcasses of his kill that afternoon. It had been a long day and a long hunt; the sun was setting by the time he had decided to return home. It was always a battle with himself. If the hunter could have his way, he would spend the remainder of his days in the forest, away from people and expectations and women who violently turned him down.

Thinking of Belle, Gaston turned in the direction of her cottage, and was surprised to see smoke. But he shrugged it off; Maurice had probably returned earlier and was botching another invention. He continued moving forward.

But when he looked a second time, he could see the faint orange glow of…

"Fire," Gaston mumbled to himself as he registered that Belle could be in real danger. He had the advantage of being closer than anyone in the village, but still he knew he had to get there quickly. With some slight hesitation, Gaston threw the corpses from his horse and mounted, squeezing the animal's sides with such an urgent force that the horse reared up and brayed before taking off with a start.

* * *

**AHA! THE PLOT THICKENS!**


	8. Just Hold Still

**Day 3 – Evening**

Belle's dream was interrupted by someone shushing her. And then, a voice, low and deep and grumbling.

"It's alright, Belle. You're home."

"Pa… papa?"

"No, Belle. It's me."

Her eyes snapped open as she realized with whom she was speaking. Gaston was hovering over her, looking genuinely pleased with himself as he grinned down at her.

"It… is you," Belle replied, confused by his presence in her room.

_I'm in my room._

Her eyes flashed crimson. She suddenly sat up straight in her bed. She looked down at her body to see that she was dressed in her ivory nightgown. Belle didn't recall going up to bed, nor _dressing_ for bed, and nor did she remember inviting Gaston into her chambers in the middle of the night.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, but was struck down by a throbbing ache in her skull. The hunter sat at her bedside, taking a swig from a bottle of wine before he sucked his teeth with his tongue and smacked his lips.

"Allow me to explain."

He told her the story from when he emerged from the wood to when he saw the smoke, galloped to her rescue, and pulled her unconscious body from the burning stable. He, of course, left out the way his heart pounded with worry and fear that he had been too late when, after he had laid her down inside, she wasn't breathing. He also conveniently left out the part where he had changed her dirtied clothes (without looking, but maybe peeking once or twice) and stayed with her until she awoke.

Belle was silent for a moment. She chewed her lower lip and roughly ran her fingers through her hair, almost harshly. Gaston wanted to reach out and stop her nervous hands.

"I must've fallen asleep while reading," she said at last, pensively. Gaston rolled his eyes; as if a woman being allowed to read wasn't bad enough, he had to look at what had almost become of Belle as a result of her nasty habit. But he kept his mouth shut. It was perhaps the first time he had ever done so.

Belle inwardly thanked some higher power for the fact that she had been the only living creature in the stable that night; after selling the cow and her mother's sheep to pay off debts, the barn was inhabited only by Philippe, who (to Belle's knowledge) was currently carting Maurice and his award-winning invention back home to their provincial town.

As she began to wonder what her father would think if he walked in on Gaston at her bedside at such a compromising time, she also began to register a warmth seeping through the linen. Her eyes traveled down to her upper thigh, where the hunter's large and ungloved hand was currently resting. Not squeezing, nor groping, but lying atop the blanket, conforming to the curve of her leg in such a way that a similar warmth began to bleed into Belle's face.

Bleed.

_Bleeding._

"Gaston," Belle choked out as she realized that the heat she felt was not only from Gaston's skin, but his blood as it soaked through the coverlet.

He didn't follow her gaze. Instead, a little slow on the uptake, Gaston looked to the inventor's daughter with genuine interest.

"Yes, Belle?"

"You're bleeding!"

Curious, Gaston lifted his hand and looked at it thoughtfully before shrugging. He rotated it in midair, observing the trickling streams of red from all angles, too engrossed in his injury to realize that Belle had left the room and returned with a bowl of water and a cloth. She knelt beside him.

"Here, now," Belle cooed as Gaston fingered the wound. She gripped his wrist to stop him. "Don't do that."

Something inside of Gaston nagged him not to accept help from a woman. And yet, seeing her pale hands on his tanned wrist- no, _feeling_ her soft, delicate hands on his rough, dry wrist- felt _wonderful_. It was a new feeling that twisted his gut, but it was also a familiar feeling that he hadn't felt since his mother used to care for him.

Gaston took another sip from his bottle before Belle gently took it from him. He never thought of her as much of a drinker. Then again, she _did _almost die. She needed all the help she could get.

But she didn't drink it.

"Just hold still… this might sting a little… "

Distracted, he didn't notice Belle forcefully placing the alcohol-soaked rag on his wound until a violent pain shocked Gaston back to the present. He hissed and pulled away.

"That hurts!" he cried angrily, jumping out of his seat. It fell back with a heavy _thud_ from the force. Belle wiped the saliva from her face with a disgusted groan. Same old Gaston.

"If you'd hold still it wouldn't hurt as much!" she yelled back just as angrily. She rose to face him.

"If you were a _normal_ woman, this would have never happened!"

Gaston regretted his decision to save her. He should have let her burn.

He knew that wasn't true as soon as she saw her face. His words had struck somewhere deep as she turned away from him, trying her damnedest to mask how hurt she was. The emotion of simultaneously being considered a freak and a goddess- both shunned and admired- as well missing her father, coupled with the strain of her near-death experience and having to deal with Gaston immediately afterward- it was all too much for Belle to take and she collapsed to the bed, holding her face in her hands as tears began flowing freely.

The solid part of Gaston's heart that had once housed his lust for winning her cracked and everything inside of him dissipated as he watched her. He stood, awkwardly, as her body shook with silent sobs. The crack opened wider with each shudder and gasp of her grief. It began to fill with something else. Something that froze him in a thin layer of fresh fear.

He wanted to take her into his arms, cradle her head, and kiss her hair. He wanted to hold her until she slept and then continue holding her through the night, every night, until they were awakened by the children in the morning, eagerly shaking them awake, excited for breakfast and then the hunting trip that would follow.

This was beyond the bet.

Guiltily, Gaston kneeled before Belle and laid his head on her knees. Belle stopped crying almost at once. She hiccupped. She stared down at the back of his head, confused and fearful and comforted.

After a few terse moments, the hunter finally raised his head. There were no words. His eyes spoke an apology that Belle saw and accepted. With a newfound respect for Gaston, she raised his hand and picked up the cloth.

Gaston growled quietly as Belle gently held the damp rag to the shallow gash that ran the length of the hunter's calloused palm. Her fingers brushed his and she tensed briefly. They only spoke again when she had finished wrapping his hand.

"By the way… thank you, for saving my life."

"You're welcome."

With that, he left, stopping only once to turn and smile at Belle from the doorway. She smiled back.

Gaston left Belle's house for the second time that day, but this time he didn't slam the door.

_Wait and see, a few days more, there may be something there that wasn't there before…_

**A little fun fact/story for y'all: because I write anonymously (and I would absolutely **_**die**_** of embarrassment if anyone ever discovered my stories) I keep all of my fanfictions on a single flash drive. Now, as a result of this, it tends to bop around with me wherever I go. The other day, I accidentally brought it with me to work, and the entire time I was freaking out that someone was going to take it from me and go plug it in a computer somewhere and read everything and be like "OH. MY. GOD."**

**Five hours of imagining these and other scenarios. Torturous. xD**


	9. Standoff

**Day 4 – Morning**

_Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock._

The steady, staccato rhythm of a… of…

What _was_ that?

Still groggy with sleep, Belle sat up in bed and rubbed her forehead. Bright, aching sunlight flooded the room as fuzzy memories of the night before flooded her mind, filling the sleepy darkness behind her eyes. Remembering her tender moments with Gaston warmed her body and she pressed her fingertips to her heart, forcing herself to steady the quickened beating, reminding herself that this was the same chauvinistic Gatson that terrorized her well-being- figuratively, of course. Her cheeks flushed, nonetheless.

The sound continued, erratic and reverberating through the house. It sounded like a hammer. A hope blossomed inside of Belle. Was her father home and working on another invention already? She hastily dressed and brushed her hair before rushing downstairs to greet him, ignoring the throbbing pain in her skull.

"Papa, I-"

She stopped at the foot of the stairs at the same moment the hammering ceased. All around her, the cottage had been- clumsily, but meticulously- cleaned. Save for a pile of books on the table, haphazardly stacked, and ashy bootprints trailing throughout the kitchen and foyer. Belle was reminded of the once-been stable and gulped. The knocking picked up again, coming from the roof.

"Papa?"

The inventor's daughter wandered outside, searching for the source of the noise. She wrinkled her nose and shielded her eyes with a flat hand against the sun's rays. The hammer went silent once more, and before Belle could call out, Gaston leapt from the roof and landed in front of her on the porch.

"Gaston!" she cried out stupidly, stumbling backwards and nearly losing her balance. He beamed at her. Belle noticed a pattern; it seemed he was always grinning when he saw her.

"Good morning, Belle," he sung out, the deep tenor of his voice reverberating through the early morning atmosphere. She wrinkled her nose. Slung over his shoulder was a sack of what she assumed was tools.

"Gaston, what- this-"

At a loss for words, Belle gestured around to the house, and, finally, to-

"The roof? Missing a few tiles. A real fixer-upper. You'd have been in real trouble with the first rains of the season." Gaston smiled again. Belle smiled back and crossed her arms. Incredulous, she cocked her head at him and chuckled in absolute bewilderment and disbelief. _Incredible._

After a few content moments of them smiling dumbly at one another, Gaston finally cleared his throat and spoke up.

"_And_, I brought this!"

He held the burlap sack up to eye level. Intrigued, Belle raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? And what, may I ask, is 'this'?"

Without warning, Gaston marched past Belle, into the house, and dumped the contents of the bag onto the table. The freshly killed carcass of a wild boar plopped onto the wooden surface with a sickening, squishy _thump_. Belle gasped and covered her mouth, simultaneously pinching her nose. The hunter stood proudly with his fists on his hips. Basking in his glory.

"Gaston… you shouldn't have."

"But I did," he purred. Considering that Belle was up and walking, he assumed that she must be feeling fine. "You can work on this while I finish the roof."

"Excuse me?" Belle chirped. Gaston, who was already waltzing away, faced her.

"Well, I _was_ going to do it before you woke up, but now… I mean, since you're awake… and feeling well… _you_ do it," he explained, obviously befuddled.

Belle scoffed and opened the nearest windowpane. The stench of death was quickly filling the tiny living space.

"What makes you think I'm feeling well? I'm not your wife, Gaston," she snapped.

"Not yet."

"Not _ever_."

"Don't talk to me that way!" Gaston's puzzled expression gave way to passive rage at being spoken to in such a dictating manner by a woman. A woman who wasn't even his wife.

"I'll speak to you however I'd like, this is _my_ house!"

"Your father's house," Gaston corrected, subconsciously noting that Maurice should've returned days ago. Belle noticed this as well. She rose to her full height and wiped her hands on her apron before jabbing an accusing finger into the hunter's solid chest.

"My father is away, and while he is away _I _am in charge, do you hear me? You can't just come barging in here like you own the place, dumping dead animals and telling me what to do!" Tears pricked at her eyes.

_Why does he infuriate me so?_

"You didn't seem to mind last night when I _barged_ in here to save your life."

"I- I… "

That single statement ended the standoff quite abruptly. Belle's face softened. Gaston removed one of his gloves and smoothed his face with his hand. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips.

"I'm sorry," Belle whispered. She was being sincere. He'd done so much for her in the last few days, and what had she done to repay him except reprimand him for just being himself? She saw that the hand he'd rubbed his face with was the injured one, the bandaged soaked through with dried blood. Reaching up, she took his larger hand in her two smaller ones and looked at it thoughtfully. Gaston's breath hitched at the contact.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she said at last, smiling weakly at him with sparkling amber eyes. Her smile said everything that the hunter needed to know; she was grateful to him, and appreciated all that he had done and was going to do for her. More importantly, she wanted him to stay. At least for today.

"But you… _are_ feeling well?" Gaston asked, concerned. Belle looked up at the hunter from where she knelt before him, enjoying the attention for once.

"Yes. I am."

After his hand had been re-bandaged and Belle rolled up her sleeves to begin the arduous task of gutting and butchering the pig, a smug thought crossed Gaston's mind; maybe she'd be the perfect little obedient wife after all. That thought dissolved just as swiftly as it came. Belle was still her own woman; fiercely independent, a wild mare that needed to be tamed. Perhaps that was what drew him to her so forcefully- like a moth to a candle.

* * *

_There's something sweet,_

_And almost kind,_

_But he was mean and he was coarse and unrefined;_

_And now he's dear, and so unsure,_

_I wonder why I didn't see it there before?_

* * *

**SO SO SO SORRY for the late update! But I'm gonna be honest- I've been partying it up all week. Not drinking... just livin' life, y'know? :P**

**That, plus I lost my FFF (Fan Fiction Flashdrive) shortly after publishing Roxanne and kinda didn't put much effort into finding it until today... sorry, guys.**_  
_


	10. In A Daze

**Day 4 – Afternoon**

Unnamed, intangible thoughts of Belle and feelings and colors swirled and mixed in Gaston's brain as he waltzed into town that day. Every nerve felt electrified; every hair stood on end. He couldn't explain it. With each step down the cobblestone street carrying him farther away from the cottage, he felt weaker. Heavier.

He found that his body could function on its own, too lost in his thoughts to realize that he had stopped at the baker, and the grocer, and only snapped out of his daze when someone called his name. Once. Twice. Three times.

Not realizing that he had been standing in front of the bookshop, gazing longingly into the window, Gaston turned- slowly, but surely- to see the same group of men from the bar, hungover and hanging out against the usual wall. As if not believing their presence, Gaston sauntered over to them warily.

"We missed you at the Boar's Head last night, Gaston!"

One of the men reached up to greet the hunter with a friendly, masculine slap on the back, but reeled when he saw the expression on Gaston's face. It was unlike any they had ever seen.

"Hey, uhh… you a'right, Gaston?"

Like a clock striking midnight, he was suddenly alert. He quickly and stealthily transformed back to his old self, letting out a bellowing laugh that shook the shutters.

"Of course I am! Never been better!"

The men exchanged nervous glances. One of them mustered the courage to speak up.

"Where… where _were_ you last night?"

Gaston, with a broad smile, opened his mouth to answer. But then his eyes went wide, and he registered for the first time _exactly_ who he was speaking to.

Everything felt disconnected. Lefou wasn't beside him. These men were from the _tavern_. Where he had made a _bet_. A bet to marry Belle in under a week. How many days did he have left? Three? Four? How could he have forgotten? What had _happened_ to him?

His alpha male instincts kicked in and he puffed out his chest. He leaned in, slyly, and elbowed the pudgy man nearest to him.

"Well, if you must know… I was at _Maurice's_ last night."

Three jaws dropped at once.

"But… but… Maurice is- out of town- he-"

"_I know_."

Something flickered across the men's eyes (Belle was left alone in her cottage, unattended and unsupervised) and they all burst out cackling at once.

"You _dirty dog!_"

"No one's slick as Gaston!"

"No one's quick as Gaston!"

"What a guy!"

What they didn't know was, that although what Gaston said was true, nothing of a sexual nature had occurred between Belle and himself. Yes, they'd shared intimacy when they spoke in Belle's room, brushing hands and whispering as if Maurice was home and asleep in the next room. And yes, he had stayed there, leaving only to walk his horse home across town to his cabin, and once more to survey the damage of the former stable on Maurice's property. That was the extent of the evening. But they couldn't know that. He had a reputation to keep.

"As a specimen, yes, I'm intimidating," Gaston chuckled when at last the men had settled down. One of them mumbled "ladykiller." Another sighed.

"Ev'ry guy here'd love to be you, Gaston," the pudgy one mused, noticing for the first time the bandage on the bulky hunter's hand. The man next to him noticed as well and looked at it, puzzled.

"You know, Thomas said he saw smoke coming from Maurice's last night," the one in the middle interjected. Gaston raised an eyebrow at him, as if in warning.

"I mean, _ha_, what did you get _up_ to last night?"

The men laughed dryly at the humor. Although Gaston had always been one for good innuendo, the joke fell flat, and suddenly, the entire conversation- based on false assumptions- was disgusting. Belle was an honorable young woman. Why was he here, lying to impress these fools, defacing her name and reputation by supporting the belief that she had given herself away before marriage?

Gaston felt sick.

"I- I gotta go."

He spun on his heel and practically ran back to the cottage on the outskirts of town.

"We'll see you tonight, right, Gaston?"

When he didn't respond, the man yelled again.

"Don't forget the bet!"

* * *

**Awwww. I totally forgot about this story. :C**

**But I'm back! And to clear up any confusion, I'm trying to portray Gaston as having "gentlemanly" morals for a reason. Plus, you gotta think of the time period, and the fact that he wants Belle to be his **_**wife**_** so badly insinuates that he has **_**some**_** type of virtue.**


	11. The Wife of Bath's Tale

**Day 4 – Dusk**

Belle appreciated the silence of the door as it swung open and closed as she stepped inside with a basketful of garden herbs- Gaston had fixed the squeaky hinges, along with having dusted the top shelf of Belle's bookshelf (that neither she nor her father could reach) and sealed the windows to safeguard against rain. She was sure that he would return later and was actually eager to see him again. It was so _nice_ to have company. Especially in her father's absence. Even if that company _was_ Gaston, he wasn't all bad, and it was nice to have a strapping young lad around the house.

It was something, she realized, that she could get used to.

"Belle?" Gaston half-inquired, half-greeted as he entered the house. Belle shouted to him from the kitchen.

"In here, Gaston."

The inventor's daughter was busying herself around the dining table, laying out china plates and wooden mugs and dishes of food. Gaston hurriedly threw down his saddlebag and rushed to help her.

"_Merci, Monsieur,_" Belle said with a flirty wink and a slight curtsy as she set the tray, handed to her by Gaston, upon the table. She wondered briefly when she had become so bold. Perhaps she was beginning to find Gaston the _slightest_ bit attractive. And he wasn't being nearly as obnoxious as Belle originally believed him to be; in fact, he was being quite charming, helping around the house and currently setting the table for supper. Perhaps her gratitude toward him was altering her perspective.

It was the least she could do to cook for him after he saved her life _and_ fixed up the house.

"_Mademoiselle,_" Gaston returned, flexing his biceps as he sat to eat the feast laid out before him. Belle had gone all out; roasted golden potatoes, simmering _soupe à l'oignon _topped with bubbly _fromage blanc, _and a broiled ham on a bed of cabbage and steamed leeks- and, of course, the wine Gaston had snatched from the pantry, despite the disapproving glare Belle had given him for popping it open and taking a swig.

Gaston whistled in appreciation. Belle blushed and nervously tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"This food looks almost as good as you," the hunter "complimented" with a hearty laugh. Belle rolled her eyes and sat at her place across from him; she had learned recently to take everything Gaston said and did in stride.

"Did you, um, have a nice day in town?" Belle asked as she set her napkin in her lap. Gaston merely shrugged. He did the same thing he did everyday; make the rounds, without actually buying or selling anything. It wasn't Belle's business, and even if it was, he didn't want her to know how purposeless his life was.

After a quick grace, complete with giddy, nervous laughter between Gaston's jokes and Belle's sips of wine, they ate in silence, with Gaston practically inhaling his meal while Belle timidly ate her soup, every now and then looking pensively out the window or pouring another glass of Merlot. The sky outside was darkening, and clouds were rolling in from the south horizon, threatening rain. She looked at her bowl or the sky; never at Gaston. Gaston huffed and watched her, never shifting his gaze, becoming ever more impatient. He couldn't stand the quiet. He couldn't stand her not paying any attention to him. No one ignores Gaston!

"What's on your mind, Belle?" Gaston finally asked with a content sigh as he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head and propping his muddy boots up on top of his empty plate. Belle absentmindedly turned to him.

"What?"

"Here you are, breaking bread with the most desirable bachelor in town, and yet you insist on gazing out the window instead of at _me_. What's got you down?"

"Oh," Belle responded mechanically, as if she hadn't heard the question. A few moments of registration passed before she spoke again. "It's… I'm still worried about my father."

Gaston's expression faded into a scowl. He was tilting his chair on its back legs, scratching the stubble on his chin as if he were thinking deeply about what had Belle in such a foul mood.

"Who knows? Maybe he lost his way. Ended up in Germany." Gaston chuckled as he pictured Belle's father in bright green lederhosen, desperately asking ugly Bavarians for directions back to France, and none of them stopping to give him the time of day. "Crazy old Maurice."

Gaston expected his little joke to cause Belle to laugh, or at least smile (or even get angry with him for being "insensitive"), but instead- to Gaston's dismay- she exhaled and put her head in her hands. Her shoulders slumped, defeated.

_Awkward._

The tiniest gear in Gaston's head began turning; perhaps Belle really _was_ upset about Maurice being away for so long. Not everyone was as independent as Gaston- especially not a woman who still lived with her father and was quickly developing a drinking problem.

"Or maybe his horse died, and he's trying to get a new one so he can travel back home."

_Stupid._

Gaston clapped his palm over his face. He was only making the situation worse. But for some inexplicable, unexplainable reason, he wanted to cheer Belle up. He didn't want her to worry.

When he looked back at Belle, however, she was peeking at him between her fingers with an amused smile on her face.

"W-what?" Gaston asked, his face suddenly hot. Why was she _looking_ at him like that? With those… _bedroom eyes_?

_Embarrassing._

"Thank you for trying," she giggled as she reached for her glass.

_Humiliating._

Gaston stuck a finger in his collar and tried to loosen it. After a long (but very ladylike) drink of her wine, Belle straightened up in her chair before standing to clean the table, oblivious to his turmoil.

"It's been just him and I for so long," Belle explained as she traveled from the table to the washbasin with a carefully balanced stack of porcelain. "He's all I have left in the world."

The words stung; what would she do if she lost him? Belle shook her head to clear it. She mustn't think that way. Suddenly, something caught her foot, twisting and knotting around her ankle. In a flash, she was stumbling, and falling backwards, the plates falling from her hands as she lost her grip.

Big, strong arms encircled her torso, and the last thing she saw before the sound of shattering pottery met her ears was two hairy forearms clutching her rib cage.

"Dammit, Belle," Gaston muttered; not cursing at her, but at himself. He had caught her from behind before she hit the ground. Belle, in a daze, looked up to see an apologetic frown plastered across his handsome features. The thing that had caused her to trip and fall was the leather strap to Gaston's saddlebag that he had carelessly thrown down earlier. In the struggle, its contents had spilled out, and were now mingling with shattered ceramic shards. A rag, a pair of hunting gloves, a vial of oil, a flask, a handful of coins, hair tonic, a book-

_A book?_

Perhaps it was the wine, or Belle's passive nature, that allowed her to forget the mess of plates- if only for a moment. They could replace them later (_"With what money?"_). With Gaston still holding her above the floor, Belle reached forward and lifted the dusty book, wiping the cover with her apron to read the title. As if Gaston couldn't be any more deceiving.

"_The Canterbury Tales?_" she breathed. She felt him tense against her back.

"You really bought it. I can't believe it."

"What's so hard to believe?" _Gulp._

"Forgive me, Gaston, but I thought you only went in the bookshop that day to follow me. I should have never doubted you."

Excited, Belle straightened up and flipped the book open to the Wife of Bath's prologue. She was reminded of her mother the instant she saw the illustration. Not that Belle's late mother bore any resemblance to the haggardly old maid with red hair, but nostalgia was a powerful and overbearing feeling that washed over her, all the way down to the inventor's daughter's toes.

"Here, why don't you read it to me?"

Moving chairs together and sitting at the table, Belle was laughing now, playfully leaning against Gaston's side, her hand brushing his forearm as she turned the book towards him; and although the hunter felt that it would be appropriate for him to laugh as well, he couldn't. She was holding the book out to him. He didn't take it. She stopped her chortling when she realized he wasn't being merry with her. His face was intense, thick brows drawn together, lips pressed into a hard, thin line. Belle tilted her head towards him.

"Gaston?"

Unwilling to admit the truth- not directly, anyway- a cryptic Gaston allowed Belle to move out of his embrace as he took the book from her.

"I can't."

It dawned on Belle, at long last, that Gaston couldn't read. How would he? And why didn't she figure this out before? She felt pity for him; being illiterate seemed to explain many, if not all, of his behaviors.

"You mean… you never learned?"

"I learned. It's just been so… _long_."

"Well, here. I'll help you."

"I was hoping… I was hoping _you_ would read this. _To_ me."

The thrill of sharing the one thing that brought her joy- Belle earnestly clasped her hands over her collarbone to keep them from visibly trembling.

"Really?"

"I don't know why I bought it. I can't read it. But you said it was one of your favorites, and… I don't know. I've been carrying it around for days, for no reason. No reason at all. But now… yes, I want you to read to me. If you'd like, I mean."

Trying not to appear too eager, Belle pursed her lips and nodded.

"I'd _love_ to."

* * *

_A knight, traveling on his horse, was captivated by the sight of a beautiful maiden in a meadow. Without a second thought for the girl or her dignity, he took her maidenhood in the field. When the deed was done, the distraught maiden fled to the Queen to report what had transpired between her and the knight; he was collected and brought to court, where he stood trial before the Queen and her council, who addressed him._

"_The crime you have committed, by common law, is punishable by no more or no less than death. However, should you solve my riddle in one year's time, your miserable life shall be spared. My riddle is this: what do women desire most?"_

_Bound by honor to return in precisely a year and a day, the knight set out, traveling on his horse over the continent of Europe, as well as the span of many of the Arabic and Oriental trade routes. During his travels, he came across many women- old and young, fair and dark, frail and plump- each with a different desire. A gypsy woman desires wealth. A servant girl desires love. Many others desire beauty, fame, youth, children, and good health. By the end of the year, the knight was no more sure of an answer than he had been when the Queen first asked him the riddle. Despaired, the knight finally journeyed home, coming across an elderly maid in an enchanted wood along the way._

"_Good knight, pray tell, why do dark clouds hang upon you?"_

_And so the knight told the hag of his predicament. She clucked her tongue when he revealed the riddle, swearing with a hand over her breast that she knew the answer. Promising to grant the old woman any request at any time in exchange for the answer, the maid whispered in his ear, and he thanked her before riding out of the forest._

_On the morrow, the knight appeared before the Queen, as arranged. When she again asked the knight what it is that women desire most, he declared, confident in his answer;_

"_What women desire most is sovereignty over their husbands."_

_The Queen reasoned that this was an acceptable answer._

"_Where, sir knight, did you learn the solution to my riddle?"_

_Before the knight could reply, the elderly maid entered the court._

"_It was I, Your Majesty. I met him in the wood, and, in return for my aid, he has given me his word that he will grant me my one request; I would like to be bound to this knight in holy matrimony, under your eye."_

_When the Queen turned to the knight for confirmation of this request, the knight lamented that what the woman said was true, and he had agreed. He begged the Queen to spare him such a fate; he would rather have the punishment of death. But, on his word, the old woman and the young knight were wed the next morning at dawn, in a joyless ceremony overseen by the Queen. The knight then hid from his hideous bride for the day, only returning to her in the evening, where he lay in their bed as stiff and frigid as a corpse._

"_Do all husbands shirk from their wife's touch on their wedding night?"_

"_No, it is not common."_

"_Then why is it common with you?"_

"_O woe, you are old and ugly," the knight wailed._

"_I may not be as young as I once was, nor as pretty, but I offer you all the love that a wife should offer her husband. Is that not enough?"_

_When the knight didn't reply, the woman offered him a choice._

"_You can have me as I am- ancient and grotesque, but a faithful, loving wife, who will never stray from your bed- or young and beautiful, but scarce to be found when you are away and other men turn their eyes upon me."_

_The knight considered her words; to have a wife who shared a bed with a different man every night, despite her beauty, was a horrendous apparition. Yet, to have a wife as elderly as she, despite her loyalty, was no more comforting. He thought about what he had learned in his travels, as well as what his new wife had taught him, and answered the hag at last;_

"_I would rather have you old and faithful than young and adulterous. Alas, it is not my choice to make. I know now what women desire most. You must do what it is you wish to do."_

_Suddenly, the room was filled with light and fairy-magic. The knight's wife had transformed into a beautiful and young enchantress. So captivated was he by her beauty, that he swept her up into his arms before she could explain that, because he had learned his lesson well, he shall have her as both youthful and faithful. They lived happily together until the end of their days._

* * *

Belle closed the book with a sigh. Before she could turn to see Gaston's reaction, she heard a gentle snore, like the hum of a honeybee, and immediately felt his warm breath on her chest. He was fast asleep, resting his head on her left shoulder, his hair loose and coming apart. A quiet gasp escaped Belle's lips as she took in his face; his peaceful expression made him almost boy-like, his features softened by both candlelight and uninterrupted slumber.

Unable to resist, Belle reached up and softly stroked his face with the back of her right palm, feeling the tender scrape of stubble on her smooth skin. He really was quite handsome.

Smiling to herself, Belle carefully brushed Gaston's unkempt hair back with her fingertips before turning back to her book. She wouldn't admit to herself that she wished to touch him more, but instead was content with reading into the night with his body so close to hers.

* * *

**HAHA, Belle is **_**buzzin'**_**. Buzz buzz.**

**Another early update as an apology for the last wait. And it's the longest chapter so far!  
**

**Now, a question for all my readers/reviewers; when this story gets to the point of a lemon (which it probably will, but no promises) what should I do? Should I draw it out and make a big deal out of it, or keep it short and sweet? Should it get to that point and then "fade to black" (so to speak) to keep it classy? Should it be vague and poetic, or detailed? Let me know what you think. **


	12. Midnight

**Day 4 – Evening**

Gaston awoke with a start. The house was quiet, dark. He was in a bed, tucked in with an old quilt, and when he rolled over he noticed his boots by the door and his gloves and belt neatly laced over the wooden chair in the corner. He also noticed a myriad of trinkets and gadgets strewn about the windowsill and end table, and surmised that he _must_ be in Maurice's room.

What time was it? When had he fallen asleep? The last thing he remembered was drinking wine with Belle as she read to him.

_Belle._

He imagined her tenderness, and warmth trickled through his body. She must've brought him to bed after he passed out, carefully laying him down as she undid his things, lovingly laying them out before pulling the covers over his sleeping body. He imagined her untying his hair and smoothing it out with her fingertips.

Another of his world-famous ideas began brewing. He wanted to do something for her.

He rose, and stumbled around the black room, gathering his belongings before leaving the cottage- silently- under the cover of night.

* * *

**Sorry for the short update, I've been out of town the last week. I got some catching up to do!**


	13. Missing Gaston

**Day 5 – Morning**

Sunlight filtered in the window. The black clouds on the horizon threatened rain. Birds chirped. And Gaston was gone.

He wasn't on the roof. And Belle didn't bother looking anywhere else after peeking inside of her father's room to see that he had taken his things as well. Instead, she fixed a breakfast for herself, and tried not to dwell on the fact that Gaston leaving without so much of a farewell _really_ bothered her.

When had she really started caring for the hunter? It was difficult to admit that she missed him… but she did. His smile. His deep, reverberating laughter. His stocky build and bulky torso that once intimidated her were now constantly and consistently at the forefront of her thoughts; she wanted to be held in his strong embrace, protected, safe…

She missed the way his eyes lit up every time he looked at her.

After her meal, Belle cleaned up the remnants of last night; the empty wine bottle, the shards of ceramic plates, Gaston's saddlebag-

Belle paused. His things still lay mingled with the broken dishes, forgotten, and the inventor's daughter had the urge to take them to him.

Perhaps it was simply her excuse to see him. She was longing for him, after all. It was almost as if… she _needed_ him.

Belle sighed and sat back against the wall, holding the old bag in one hand and her face in the other.

After a few moments of calming her rapid heartbeat, Belle stood to leave, hurriedly collecting Gaston's belongings (including _The Canterbury Tales_) and rushed out the door.

* * *

**Another late update. Had my grad party (I've graduated high school and am attending GVSU this upcoming semester), work, and then my wisdom teeth taken out. I'll be gone the next week, on vacation and then celebrating my birthday. I do plan on having this story finished (hopefully) by the end of September or October.**

**Ciao, mi bellas! And thank you for your patience!**


	14. A Surprise

**Day 5 - Noon**

"I've never felt this way about anyone. I want to do something for her. But what?"

Gaston sat alone at the bar, hunched over his mug of ale. Save for him, the bartender, and the regular town drunks, the tavern was empty.

For starters, Gaston had never visited the Boar's Head during daylight hours. Five days earlier this would have been anything but pleasant, but he found that he now preferred the quiet, early afternoon atmosphere to the rowdy, late night crowd. Perhaps he was subconsciously avoiding the bet and the men who expected an outcome. Perhaps he was beginning to feel the pressure.

Secondly, as he wandered in that day, slightly wary, and mostly nervous, he knew that nothing but alcohol would calm the trembling of his hands or the sweat that collected on the back of his neck. It took a few drinks for the hunter to open up to the man who handed him a fresh stein of beer every couple minutes, but soon enough he was spilling his heart and soul, laying it all out on the counter- he_ truly_ cared for Belle.

And he went into town that day to buy her the best gift he could think of. But… Gaston couldn't think of one.

"Well, there's the usual things," the barkeep offered as he wiped out the insides of the previous night's tankards with a worn square of cloth, "Flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep… "

The hunter finished his beer in a single gulp.

_"Non, non._ It has to be something very special. Something that sparks her interest." Gaston impatiently tapped his fingers on the wooden countertop as he looked around the room. The furniture was dusty and pale in the natural light of day. He watched the particles dancing in the streams of sun coming in through the window pane, until, eventually, his eyes travelled to the window itself, watching the people passing by, the carts on the street, and the carpenter's shop on the other side.

"Wait a minute- "

Gaston jumped up from his seat and sprinted out the door. Startled, the bartender sputtered, dropped a glass, and shouted that the drinks would be put on his tab, staring all the while- obviously puzzled by Gaston's strange and unusual behavior.

* * *

The carpenter's shop (next door to both the blacksmith and the locksmith, and connected to the furniture shop) was an odd sort of building. Unlike most of the stores in town that were closed on all sides, the carpenter's was open-faced on the street side, making deliveries easier, and allowing for the seamless transportation of large orders in and out of the place. While the front of the store was mostly for display purposes, on fair-weather days the carpenter himself would move his workshop outside and enjoy the (well-ventilated) air while he labored. Today was such a day, and when Gaston excitedly ran up to his work bench and smacked both hands, palms down, on the table, the carpenter had to throw both of _his_ hands behind his own head to keep from sawing his fingers off. The tool fell to the ground with a reverberating, metallic _clang_.

"Gaston!" the carpenter, surprised but calm, greeted the larger man. "What has you so eager?"

"I have… I need…_ plans_."

Gaston's body heaved up and down as he caught his breath, staring down at the middle-aged man with intent.

"Well, sure, I have plans. Plans for what?" the carpenter motioned for the hunter to follow him inside. The walls near the back door were lined with shelves upon shelves of architectural plans, neatly drawn on parchment and rolled up tight. "Let's see… I have individual rooms, add-ons, barns, pig pens- "

"I need one for a stable."

"I have plenty of stables," the man chuckled as he moved to take down a few examples, but was stopped by Gaston's gloved hand on his arm.

"Not just any stable," Gaston said. His blue eyes sparkled and the carpenter wondered vaguely if this was the same Gaston that entertained him with off-color humor at the bar most evenings. His aura… his stance… it all seemed… _softer_, somehow. Airy. Uplifting. Everything about him was intense, but not malicious.

"What… what kind of stable do you need?"

A grin broke across the hunter's face.

"Do you do custom orders?"

Brushing both bands on the front of his apron, the carpenter chuckled and turned to Gaston, who was busy admiring the freshly-inked-and-penciled paper that lay out before him. His eyes scanned the page furiously and with growing excitement. It was perfect.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Gaston! I'll draw up a receipt and we can make the exchange."

As he broke out of his daze, the hunter realized that he still had to pay. Easy. The town's best made plenty of coin selling game meat, horns, furs- whatever he managed to kill and collect while out on the prowl. He reached into his satchel for his sack of coins-

His satchel was missing.

"I can't pay," Gaston blurted, confused.

"What do you mean you can't, pay?"

"I mean, I can't pay!"

He spun in a circle, looking all around him. Then he remembered. The wine, the broken plates, the satchel on the kitchen floor...

"I- my bag- " Gaston felt around his waist and abdomen, as if his satchel would magically appear. Alas, it did not.

But as he gazed over the carpenter's shoulder, toward the street, something else appeared… or _someone_.

And that someone was Belle.

Carrying his satchel.

Walking towards him.

Gaston glanced at her surprise, then back at Belle (who, upon seeing him, smiled), then back at the paper, then back at Belle- he had to hide it. _Now._

Before the carpenter could utter a single word of protest, Gaston capped the rolled-up plan in a canister and slung it across his shoulder, just as Belle arrived at the entrance to the shop.

"Gaston! I'm glad I found you. I went to the tavern, first, but they said- "

"Ahh, Belle!" the hunter boomed, opening his arms wide in a grand gesture. "My saddlebag!"

Slightly put off, the inventor's daughter timidly slid the satchel from her arms. Gaston snatched it from her and, in one deft move, retrieved his coin purse and paid the carpenter before hustling Belle out of the shop without further ado.

"Gaston, wait," Belle protested as he forced her down the street faster than her feet could keep up. "What were you doing in there?"

"It's business, Belle. Nothing a woman should know nor care about."

He absentmindedly moved her along, both hands firmly gripping her shoulders, trying to get as far from the usual crowd as possible. They stopped somewhere on the outskirts of town, closer to Gaston's home.

"What was all_ that _about? You've been acting quite strange lately," Belle turned to him, arms crossed. Gaston couldn't help but notice the way her lips pouted when she was frustrated. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do everything with her, share everything with her. But not the way he once believed.

He wanted to share himself with her.

"Belle," Gaston unwound her arms from her chest and took her hands in his. "Can I show you something?"

Belle was taken aback by the question. Not by his straightforwardness (he was notorious for that), but by his... politeness? He was asking for her permission. Something he'd never done.

She searched his eyes, raising an eyebrow as she interrogated him without words. His blue eyes were so... honest.

"Yes."

* * *

**LATE DELAY. SO SORRY. But school's been CRAZY busy. Aaaaand I got a real boyfriend. ;D**

**I wanna hear your feedback!**


	15. The Clearing

**Day 5 - Afternoon**

* * *

_Belle, I have something to show you. _

_But first, you have to close your eyes. It's a surprise!_

* * *

Gaston's purebred stallion slowed to a trot as they reached the edge of the wood. The sky above had been steadily darkening since they first mounted and set off; Gaston had been pleasantly surprised by Belle's expertise at mounting a horse, as well as the view he received when he glanced up, but when Belle seated and looked down at him (not riding side-saddle, as he would have expected of a woman), he pretended to have been admiring his stallion's shiny black coat all along. He sat in front of her and took the reins, nearly falling off when Belle's delicate hands clasped around his taut abdomen, a little lower than what he would have deemed appropriate. She, however, was oblivious to his turmoil, and he had to fight himself the entire way as each gallop rubbed her grasp slightly lower.

At last, they reached the clearing and Gaston brought his horse to a complete stop. He dismounted first, and gripped Belle's waist to help her down; she used his shoulders for support, and Gaston (subconsciously) flexed to try to impress her. The effort went unheeded.

As soon as Belle had her feet on the ground, and Gaston granted her permission to open her eyes, she was awestruck. While the hunter removed the saddle from his stallion to allow the creature to roam free, the inventor's daughter took a few tentative steps into the clearing, trying to take everything in at once.

Despite the cloudy sky, the scene was beautiful; the clearing wasn't large, but expansive, filled to the brim with a rainbow of wildflowers and tall grasses. In the center stood a large and twisted willow, whose long, wispy vines swayed in the warm breeze. The scent of budding lilacs wafted around Belle's head and, feeling dizzy, she exhaled slowly as Gaston approached her from behind.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" she asked as she turned to him, breathless. The hunter's own face had taken on a sort of dreamy expression as well- but it wasn't the clearing he was looking at.

"Yes."

The inventor's daughter moved closer to him.

"How did you ever find this place?"

"While I was out hunting," Gaston said nonchalantly, scratching his head as he moved past Belle. "Come on, I'll show you my favorite place to sit."

* * *

Their laughter mingled and echoed in the late afternoon atmosphere, filling the clearing with music. The couple sat among a particularly low patch of iris flowers; Gaston was laying on his back, with his hands behind his head, and Belle sat beside him on her knees, reading specific lines from _The Canterbury Tales_ that she knew would entertain and amuse him. When the chuckling had subsided, Gaston propped himself up on his elbows.

"Read the Wife's tale again."

"Again?"

"When you read it the other night, and I... well, I want to know how it ends."

Belle shrugged.

"The knight learns about love and women."

She caught his eye and, flushing, decided not to continue her explanation. Something about it seemed improper.

"I'm surprised they allowed that to be said in a book," Gaston muttered.

"Excuse me?"

The hunter realized his mistake.

"No, no, not the part about... love," Gaston explained. The word "love" felt foreign on his tongue. "The part about... um, _other_ love. In the beginning. In the field... "

"Oh," Belle mechanically replied as her blush returned. He meant intercourse.

It also didn't get past her that they just so happened to currently be in a field.

After a few minutes of silence, Belle laughed.

"When my mother used to read the story to me, as a child, she would replace that part with a kiss," she said with a smile. Gaston shot her a puzzled expression. Belle shook her head and looked away again. She was at a loss for words today, and she couldn't figure out why. Gaston had also been unusually gentlemanly towards her all day, and she couldn't figure out why.

"Tell me about your mother," he near-whispered. Surprised, Belle took a moment to think. But, realizing he was serious and interested, she was compelled to oblige.

"She was... beautiful," Belle said quietly, eyes shining. "Intelligent. She always read to me. But she was sick for a long time. One year, for Christmas... "

The inventor's daughter looked out toward the tree-line.

"Papa told me we had no money for gifts. Mama had been growing out her hair for awhile. On Christmas morning, I awoke to find a book wrapped in ribbon next to my bed. When I opened it, I realized that my mother had written, illustrated, and bound the book herself. It was a wonderful story, about a prince cursed by a enchantress, and how he must find true love to break the spell."

Belle wiped her eyes. Gaston watched her intently.

"And when I went downstairs... she... she had sold her hair, to the wigmaker, to buy me a gift. She told me she cut it because she didn't like it long, but I knew."

Silence passed between the two.

"That was the last Christmas I saw her alive."

Belle rubbed her eyes quickly with her apron. She shook her head softly to clear her mind before turning to her companion.

"What about your parents, Gaston?"

Belle realized she didn't know anything about Gaston's family or childhood. In fact, she thought, no one in town must know. They knew Gaston- the masculine, cocky hunter and village hero- but not the Gaston that Belle had only just begun to know days earlier.

He shrugged nonchalantly as he laid back down. His eyes pointed to the Heavens and dared not stray.

"There's nothing to tell. My father disappeared before I can even remember, and my mother left shortly after that."

"I'm so sorry, Gaston."

"She did everything for me. Cleaned the house. Cooked the meals. I had to take on all of my father's responsibilities at a very young age... but, it was too much, and she left as soon as I was old enough to take care of myself."

Judging by his perspectives and attitudes and behaviors and overall demeanor, Belle would have surmised that Gaston had been solely raised by his father. A whirlpool of new information began to tie loose ends in Belle's head as she began to unknowingly put together the pieces of Gaston's past, starting with a boy desperately trying to be a man by emulating his father, and ending with a spitting image of the man that now laid beside her. She watched him; her eyes travelled the contours of his face, recording every detail of his features for later reference. Belle realized that she was trying to read him like a book and, embarrassed, glanced away.

"I... I like to believe that my father was a great hunter... and one day, he found a place like this-" he gestured to the clearing, "and never wanted to leave."

Belle noticed that Gaston's blue eyes were glistening.

"I wish I _could_ stay here forever," he whispered as he turned his gaze on her. Belle's own eyes were vaguely shimmering.

"That's... very poetic of you Gaston," she offered with a light laugh and a half-hearted smile. Gaston smiled in return. Belle could feel his hot breath on her cheeks, and for the first time, barely registered that she had been steadily leaning towards Gaston, moving her face closer to his as he spoke, until they were mere inches apart. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"You think so?" he challenged with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a gleam in his eye. Belle laughed again. Their voices were quiet, lost amidst the breeze and the rustling of prairie grass. When Belle didn't answer, Gaston reached up with an ungloved hand and stroked Belle's neck. The contact sent a jolt through her body, and she was surprised at herself for managing to not shudder or gasp, but kept her eyes locked on his.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured. The words brushed across Belle's mouth. "I don't deserve you."

Then, contrary to his statement, Gaston moved his hand to the back of Belle's hair and gently pushed forward, bringing his own head up for the moment when their lips met.

The kiss was short, sweet, warm, and Gaston nearly lost control when he felt Belle melt against him. She broke away first, and bore into him with a look of such intensity that the hunter would have tangled his hand in her hair and kissed her more passionately, had it not been for the rain that had already begun to fall.

The couple scrambled up and ran for the cover of the willow tree as it started to pour down heavily upon them. Luckily, Gaston's horse was nearby and he was able to quickly lead it under the tree with them.

Gaston watched as Belle smoothed down her apron and brushed her damp hair away from her face. These subtle acts of feminine propriety- which he had seen time and time again- seemed different when the object if his desire performed them. They seemed more natural, organic somehow- like an intangible extension of Belle herself.

She looked at the hunter, briefly, before blushing and busying herself once more with her drenched clothing.

_She glanced this way, I thought I saw..._

He stepped forward. He grasped her hands in his own. Her focus broken, she peeked up at Gaston from under her lashes.

_No it can't be, I'll just ignore- but then, she's never looked at me that way before..._

Gaston rushed forward and kissed her once more, fearlessly, while carefully judging her response. When she returned the gesture, he pressed his body against hers, and she did the same, deepening the kiss as the rain came down harder around them.

* * *

_New, and a bit alarming-_

_Who'd have ever thought that this could be?_

_True that he's no Prince Charming,_

_But there's something in him that I simply didn't see._

* * *

**Seems I can't upload RTFs from my laptop or school computers. Took me a couple days to finally figure out how to get this up :/**


	16. Consummation

**WARNING this chapter contains sexually explicit ideas and material and is rated M for mature! Only read if you are old enough and/or mature enough!**

**If you'd like to continue to read the story as T, you can easily skip over this chapter to the next chapter without any interference or confusion.**

**Day 5 - Evening**

There were no words as Belle and Gaston mounted Gaston's black stallion and headed for his home, in the rain, the sky both darkening and flashing around them. The hunter knew it would be safer for her to stay with him during the storm, especially as the sky was streaked with silver and the wind began to pick up. Belle knew she was welcome, but wondered briefly if he had ever hosted or entertained guests before.

She wondered if he had ever had _women_ stay the night before.

Belle nearly scoffed out loud- _of course he had._

So then... what was he expecting?

What was he planning?

He led her inside his humble abode, and Belle had to hide her immensely growing curiosity; Gaston the man was an enigma, but what was his home like? She wasn't surprised by what she saw as she stood, clothes dripping onto the stone floor of the darkened foyer, glancing around meekly at the dusty collection of relics. The hunter disappeared from her side for a moment to return his horse to the stable, during which Belle wasted no time in looking over the entire room; taxidermic animals stared down at her from various perches, mingled in with a handful of hunting trophies and medals that glittered in the slim amount of light that entered through the dirty and shaded windows, and, of course, not a single book on the shelves. The floor was filthy and littered with boot prints. A hunting rifle leaned nonchalantly against the far wall. The atmosphere was thick and musky.

_Like Gaston._

Belle whipped around at hearing her own thought, but she was only greeted by the crash of thunder somewhere not too far off from the hunter's remote lodgings. She trembled in spite of herself. As she began to doubt the propriety of the situation, however, her wandering mind was interrupted by a sudden warmth enveloping her. At first she was certain that Gaston was holding her from behind, embracing her in a way that made her quake to her toes, but a couple of seconds of cognition soon passed and Belle realized he had only wrapped a deer-skin pelt about her shoulders.

"Oh... thank you," Belle whispered as she lightly fingered the soft fur before pulling it tightly around herself. Without a word, Gaston crossed to the fireplace and began to work at it, piling logs and striking flint until the hearth sparked and illuminated the room in a heavenly orange glow. He sat there, hunched, fixated on the flame and not on Belle. Strangely unsure of herself (and Gaston's sudden intensity), she stood planted in the foyer a few moments more before tentatively stepping towards Gaston. He didn't flinch at her footsteps.

She stepped a couple more times before stumbling over a cylindrical object on the floor.

Gaston's eyes flickered toward the sound.

Belle bent to pick up the object at her feet, but before she could inspect the canister, Gaston was across and the room and picking her up in his arms. She gasped but the sound was cut off by his feverish lips on hers. He kissed her hard, causing Belle to grasp his forearms to keep from falling over. He pulled her in, she pushed back with just as much desire, and soon enough they were making their way down a hall, presumably towards the hunter's bedroom. They toppled in a heap atop the cot, tangled in each other's still damp but hot bodies. Belle was shaking, but it was no longer from the cold as Gaston's expert fingers began to lower her frock off her shoulders and down her torso. She tried feebly to pull it back up with her fingertips, but the effort was in vain as Gaston easily brushed her hands aside so that he could continue his work uninterrupted. Belle's breathing turned heavy as he began to trail his own exhalations down her neck, glancing over her collarbone before finally planting his mouth over the peak of her right breast. Belle jolted. The hunter peered up at her as if to see her reaction, but didn't stop. Her damp hair was sticking uncomfortably to her wet forehead- wet from either the rain or perspiration, she had no idea, but she _was_ sure of two things: that the fabric of the bed that she was currently gripping was some type of rough-hewn wool, and that whatever Gaston was doing to her was the most amazing thing she'd ever felt in her entire life.

Outside the musty window, the rain rolled over the hills, the thunder crackled and sparked, Belle whimpered Gaston's name in a way she never thought she'd whimper _anything_, and then he lost himself in her.


	17. Awakening

**Day 6 - Early Morning**

Gaston woke with a start. He was vaguely aware of the time of night, judging by the darkness engulfing the room that caused him to blink his eyes, multiple times, rapidly and in succession. As his disorientation ebbed and his hunter instincts kicked in, he realized he was not alone. Someone else was in the room with him. Breathing softly in bed next to him.

He turned to gaze upon Belle's pale form, slightly illuminated by the thin lines of silvery moonlight that managed to seep in through the musty windowpane of Gaston's bedroom. Images of the day before flooded to the forefront of his thoughts. The clearing, the rain, the trip home, the kiss...

And now Belle was in bed with him. They had consummated their relationship.

Belle was _his at last_.

She had given in to him... and that meant...

She truly wanted to be with him. Someone he loved, for once, was here to stay. Hopefully, for a long time. He would raise children with her and never leave them. He would never be like his father. And she could be an obedient, perfect wife, doing everything that Gaston's mother had given up on once she began losing her will. She would cook, and clean, and bear male heirs that had Belle's brains and the hunter's braun. And for once, he thought, he wanted a little girl. One with Belle's eyes and powerfully strong spirit- a spitting image of her beautiful mother.

Gaston's body felt as though on fire, despite the chilly dampness of the room, but that didn't stop him from gently scooping the warm and sleeping Belle into his arms and returning to dreaming with her in his secure embrace.


End file.
